


Perfect Day

by Crollalanza



Series: Iwaoi - Philos Series [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, NSFW ish, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 03:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So ... why are we here today?” Hajime asked.</p><p>“Tch!” Oikawa clucked his tongue, and glanced sideways at him. “Not figured that out yet? And there was me thinking it was simple.”</p><p>“Are you going to tell me?”</p><p>Oikawa considered, pursing his lips. “No. You’ll figure it out. And ... it’s more fun this way.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow up to Philos and Cleaved. You may want to read Philos first, but it's not entirely necessary. (I just happen to like Philos, that's all :D)

There have been a few inspirations behind this monster of a story.   
One is a twitter conversation with the beautiful viria  
One is [this](http://viria.tumblr.com/post/102796682403/but-here-i-am-again-so-good-but-not-good) picture (the one by the sink) from viria    
And then I woke up on Friday with [Perfect Day ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j2JXy1Z9ovs)in my head, which is why there are song lyrics scattered through this.

 

_  
‘Such a perfect day’_

The banging in his head only ceased when he realised it was his mum hammering on the bedroom door.

“Huh?”

“You have a visitor!” she said, sounding grumpy.

“Huh?” Hajime repeated, and rubbed at his eyes. He picked up his bedside clock. “B-but, Mum, it’s five thirty ... who ..?” He collapsed back on the bed, desperate to fall asleep, but already his legs were sliding out the side. He didn’t _need_ to ask who it was. Only one person would think he could call round at this time of the morning. Only one person in Hajime’s life would assume he’d be welcome.

“Where is he?” he groaned.

“In the kitchen. He’s making coffee.”

He didn’t dress, just pulled on his jogging bottoms and staggered to the kitchen, muttering apologies to his mum, who looked as if she was sucking lemons.  As expected, Oikawa was there, humming to himself as he stirred milk into two mugs of coffee, a smile on his face.

He was looking – there was no other word for it – perky. Which he had no right to be at this time of the morning. Not when Hajime felt as if he’d been dragged from a deep dark pit and was staring at sunlight for the first time in seven years.

“What are you doing here?” he rasped.

“And a good morning to you, too, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa replied, and beamed at him. “Now, I’ve made your coffee, strong with just a hint of milk, and I added a little sugar for energy.”

“Why?” he croaked.

“Because we have a long day ahead of us.”

“No... why are you here? It’s _so_ early, and you woke my mum. She’ll be on my case now.”

“Hmm, she didn’t look overly pleased to see me, I must say. Well, that’s your fault, Iwa-chan, because I messaged you last night, but you ignored me.”

Hajime shook his head, desperate to wake himself up, so he could step out of this hideous nightmare. But after blinking a few times, he reluctantly gave up the hope he was still asleep and sipped his coffee. “My phone’s set to ‘do not disturb’,” he muttered.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I don’t want to be disturbed,” he replied, and scowled. “It’s not even six, Oikawa. Why are you here?”

Taking the mug from Hajime’s hand, he pushed him to the door. “I’ll explain later. Go and get dressed, and then we can get a move on.”

“B-but my coffee?”

“I’ll find a flask. Now, shoo! Have a quick shower, and then we can get a move on,” Oikawa said, in a tone that could only be described as clucking.

“Move where?”he protested. “I wanna go back to bed.”

“Maybe later.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” he sparked, then smiled firmly.  “Go and get ready, Iwa-chan. Now! And don’t forget your knee brace.”

Resisting the urge to lock his bedroom door and slope back to bed (Oikawa would _not_ take the hint and would proceed to wake not just the whole house but the whole apartment block) Hajime limped into the shower (it was too early, so the water was barely warm) stepped out, dried himself quickly, and reached for his body spray. It was after he’d sprayed one armpit, he realised he’d picked up his mum’s and now smelt citrusy, rather than fresh. He thought about clambering back into the shower, but then shrugged and carried on using it. Pulling on a clean but crumpled t-shirt, jeans and a hoodie, he bowled back to the kitchen, still drying his hair.

Oikawa, sitting at the table and flipping through yesterday’s newspaper, looked up at him. “Took your time, didn’t you?”

“Oi, ten minutes. It takes you longer than that to curl your sodding eyelashes!”

“Well, we don’t have time for chat. We have somewhere to be.”

“Where?”

“The beach.”

“What?” He stormed after him, grabbing his arm. “Oikawa, it’s too cold. Why the hell are we going to the beach?”

“You’ll see,” he replied, and smiled his most infuriating smile. The smile Hajime wanted to slap off his face because he knew he couldn’t deny him anything.

Oikawa’s car (well, it was his mother’s, which was a relief because Oikawa’s car was tiny with no room to stretch out) was haphazardly parked outside. He liked driving, believing he was good at it, but really he was a bad driver, having very little concentration because he sang along to the radio, or chatted the entire time. Hajime spent most of his time as a passenger gripping the leather seats. It was only marginally worse than being the driver though, because Oikawa as a passenger would never shut up, keep questioning the route, the speed, or instruct him where to overtake.

But for once Oikawa was quiet - well, relatively. He drove quickly, but carefully, asked Hajime to sort out the Sat-Nav, but mostly he kept his thoughts to himself, passing comment only once or twice on how clear the roads were, or how Iwa-chan needed to stop yawning.

“At least put your hand over your mouth,” he complained.

“You dragged me out of bed, you can deal with me being tired and grumpy,” Hajime muttered, but he wasn’t really angry, and the longer they drove, leaving the grime of the town behind them, he started to perk up. He still had no idea what was going on, and while he should have resented the fact that he was –again – subject to Oikawa’s whims, he was starting to feel intrigued. Oikawa might be (no, he actually was) in every way an irritating prick, but days alone with him, with no worries about his future were invariably fun.

It was six forty-three when they arrived at the coast. Oikawa hadn’t driven to a resort, but had parked up on a patch of scrub overlooking a small patch of beach, with scraggy cliffs and a grey, choppy sea. Looking out of the window, Hajime waited. He waited for Oikawa to leap out the car, or to give him instructions, but instead his friend leant back in his seat, and let out a sigh. 

He smiled. “We made it.”

“Hmm?”

“Watch,” he whispered, gesturing to the sea.

“Uh ... what am I looking for? It’s dark. Is there a boat out there or something?”

“Six more minutes,” Oikawa murmured, and then he leant across, picked up Hajime’s hand and squeezed. “Patience.”

Deciding Oikawa did know what he was talking about and wasn’t just talking random bollocks as he sometimes did, Hajime glanced sideways, smiled, and then did as he was told. He watched as the breeze picked up to ruffle the waves and send small clouds scudding across the sky, he watched a two seabirds swooping low intent on breakfast. And he watched Oikawa’s profile sharpening as the early light of day filtered through to them, highlighting the tilt of his nose, the slightly protruding lower lip that curved to a smile so easily.

“You’re missing it, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa reproved. “Eyes to the front.”

“Hmm?” He shook his head, waking from his reverie.

“Sunrise,” Oikawa explained. “The perfect start to the day, don’t you think?”

They got out of the car, huddled up in extra fleeces, woollen hats and gloves that Oikawa, for once, had had the foresight to bring, and then took the gentle sloping path, rather than the steep cliff steps, to walk along the narrow stretch of pebbled beach.

“Are you all right on this surface,” Oikawa called, the wind almost whipping his words away. “Should we have brought your crutches?”

“It’s okay,” he replied, “as long as I take it slow.”

“Hold onto me.” He linked arms, pulling Hajime closer.

“I’m fine,” he huffed, which was true because his knee didn’t ache much, and the exercise was good for him. Yet he didn’t pull away, because this was nice just being together with no arguments or fear of discovery.

With a backdrop of the mottled pink and blue sky, Oikawa’s hair appeared rose- hued, gleaming as an arc of early sunshine haloed behind him. And then Hajime couldn’t see the sun, or the sky and its pink wisps of clouds because Oikawa had leant closer, blocking everything from view. Automatically, he tilted his chin up and closed his eyes, waiting, but Oikawa merely brushed his lips on Hajime’s cheek.

“Do you know why we’re here yet?” he whispered.

“Uh ... to see the sunrise?”

“But why _here_? And why today?”

He peered at the beach, taking in the tide lapping in, the shingle, the craggy cliff faces, and the small jetty jutting out to the right, now derelict. Smiling, he remembered another time, ten years before.

“We fished here, didn’t we?” Then he laughed. “You fell in!”

“You pushed me.”

“I did not!” Hajime protested. “You tried to push me in because I’d actually caught a fish, and you overbalanced when I dodged.”

“It was my fish!”

“Bollocks. You wouldn’t even put the worm on the hook.”

“I was too busy picking maggots out of my hair,” Oikawa snapped, “after _someone_ threw a handful at me.”

He glowered at Hajime, who tried to glower back, but then started to laugh. “I was a horrible kid, wasn’t I?”

Oikawa snorted. “You still are, Iwa-chan.” Then, as he ducked to avoid the soft blow Hajime sent his way, he added, “I was a petulant child. How did you put up with me?”

“Same way I do now,” he murmured, still grinning.

“At least you don’t throw maggots, anymore.”

They were silent for a while, Hajime remembering the trip with startling clarity, and the reason behind it. His mum had just had his twin brothers, and Hajime a loud and boisterous boy, hadn’t been able to understand why he had to be quiet. It had been Oikawa’s father, on a rare day off from work, who’d taken both boys out fishing. Hajime had enjoyed the day, even if a large part of it had been spent sitting, but he’d preferred running around on the scrub with a ball, or using the fishing net to catch butterflies.

Feeling Oikawa start to tug him again, he asked, “Have you ever been fishing again?”

“With Dad?” He shook his head. “He offered but ...” Shrugging, he started to walk, pulling Hajime with him. “Not really my thing. He takes Takeru sometimes. Not sure he’s ever quiet, but Dad’s more patient now.”

They walked a little along the shingle, taking it slow. Hajime inhaled the sea air, tasting the salt as it stung his lips, feeling revived. 

“We came fishing in the spring. I remember because it was the week after the twins were born.”

“Mmm, that’s right.”

“So ... why are we here today?”

“Tch!” Oikawa clucked his tongue, and glanced sideways at him. “Not figured that out yet? And there was me thinking it was simple.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

Oikawa considered, pursing his lips. “No. You’ll figure it out. And ... it’s more fun this way.”

He wouldn’t be drawn, wouldn’t even give a hint, and before long Hajime felt the grey clouds gathering in his mind. It wasn’t because Oikawa had something over him, or even that he was being infuriatingly enigmatic, but it was more that despite wracking his brains, he could not remember what it was they were supposed to be celebrating. Most of their shared experiences had revolved round volleyball. January was the one time they hadn’t played – well not important matches, anyway as they’d never – he reminded himself bitterly – qualified for Nationals.  And this first week in January hadn’t been important – not for them. It was time off from school that they usually spent with family, rarely together, and never alone.

This year was different merely because the circumstances were different. Hajime’s parents had decided to stay at home and not make the usual trek across Japan. They’d said it was because Hajime needed to study, but he knew it was money. The unexpected medical bills incurred from his injury had left them strapped for cash.

The sun had risen now, the pink clouds washed away in the white and grey of daylight, and of one mind, they turned back walking towards the car.

“Why have you got your mum’s car?” Hajime asked. “I thought she’d banned you from driving it after the last time.”

“She’s away,” Oikawa replied. “Dad had a last minute business trip in London, so she joined him.”

Hajime raised his eyebrows, and suppressed the laugh in his throat. “And she left you her keys?”

He had the grace to blush, then giggled. “No, but I know where she keeps the spare set.  Hey, don’t judge me. You’re far more comfortable in Mum’s car than mine, admit it.” He brushed his fingertips on Hajime’s cheek, and smirked. “Come on, time for breakfast.”

“Where’s open this time of the morning, Oikawa?” he grumbled, because now Oikawa had mentioned breakfast he realised how hungry he was.

“Cafe Tooru,” he replied, and opening the car door, he ushered Hajime into the passenger seat, before walking round to the boot and pulling out a basket.

“I have coffee, tea, and juice, if you’d prefer, some plum pickle and milkpan.”  Chewing the side of his mouth, Oikawa set the basket between them, then slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door. “I would have brought miso, but keeping it hot was a problem because I’d already used the flasks.”

“ _You_ made miso?”

“Not _exactly._ The housekeeper took pity on me being stuck home alone.” He widened his eyes looking sickeningly fawn-like, then broke off a piece of the bread. “We can have the miso later.”

“Later?”

“Uh-huh. We’re spending the whole day together, Iwa-chan.”

_  
‘Problems all left alone’_

Breakfast done, and sort of cleared away (Oikawa’s idea of tidying was to chuck everything back in the basket and hope the lid closed) they left the beach behind.

“Guess where we’re going now.”

“No idea, but if this is a trip to every place where we fell out and fell over, then we’ll need longer than a day.”

“True. Have you figured out the significance of the date yet?”

Hajime shook his head. It wasn’t a birthday. The only person they both knew born in January was Hanamaki, and that was at the end of January.

“ _Any_ ideas?”

“I’m working on the process of elimination. It’s not when we first met – that was summer. Neither is it the day we started elementary school – or Kitagawa.” He closed his eyes, hoping some kind of picture would form if he didn’t look at Oikawa. “Not a match, not a practise- at least not one I can think of... No, not that.”

“You’re blushing, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmured and slowed the car. “What _have_ you remembered?”

“October,” he blurted out. “I mean, autumn, so not January. November too and ... It wasn’t January.”

“I wouldn’t want to spend the whole day remembering a loss, no,” Oikawa murmured. “Whatever the consequences were.”

Hajime blushed an even deeper red, remembering the first time he’d felt a deeper more overwhelming passion than rage. And how after he thought the compensation for losing did occasionally outweigh the bitter sting of defeat.

“Oikawa, do you think-”

“Tch, hold on.” Slowing, Oikawa pulled over to the roadside, and picked his phone out of his pocket. “Neesan. Uh-huh ...” He rolled his eyes at Hajime, pretending he was annoyed, but Hajime knew Oikawa liked his sister and got on well with her.

“Uh, well, yes I am busy, actually.”

...

“No, I’m out.

...

“What do you mean?”

...

“That’s unfair!  I have plans.”

...

He held the phone away from his ear. Hajime heard Oikawa’s sister squawking (the sound so reminiscent of Oikawa when he was moaning that Hajime had to stifle a laugh).

“That’s blackmail!” he growled.

...

“All right,” he snapped. “But only the afternoon.”

With the flick of his thumb, he switched the call off, then turned it to silent. He was still scowling when he started up the car, entering the sort of mood, Hajime knew he shouldn’t mock but ...

“How is Neesan?” he asked cheerfully. “Not seen her for ages. Is she well?”

“In annoyingly good spirits and about to go shopping!” Oikawa spat. “She’s planned a day with a school friend and wants me to look after Takeru.”

“Ah ... Um, so why didn’t you say no?”he asked casually, knowing full well that Oikawa could and would have refused if he’d felt like it.

“Because of the car!”

“Huh?”

“She’s at our house now, saw Mum’s car had gone, so knows I took it. She’s threatening to tell.”

“Ah.”

And now it was Oikawa’s mood blackening, the flip comments disappearing as quickly as his smooth driving. He jerked through gear changes, slammed his foot on the brake to avoid a rabbit, and then sped up too fast.

Hajime gripped his seat belt. “Slow down.”

“I had this day planned. Planned to the last detail and now –” His  fist thumped the steering wheel; the car swerved in the road.

“Oikawa!”

“She has no right!” he exclaimed, ignoring Hajime as the car’s speed increased, and its route became erratic.

“SLOW DOWN!”

“What?” He swung to the right, his eyes not on the road but on Hajime.

“OIKAWA – SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!” Then, reaching across, he jerked the steering wheel, just before Oikawa drove into a ditch.  “BRAKE!”

Oikawa braked. It was a clear road, and he took some time restarting the car, placing his face in his hands and staring ahead. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Hajime swallowed. He could feel beads of perspiration on his brow, and his hands were clammy. If this had been a different day, and a different situation, he’d already have begun raging at Oikawa. He’d have dragged him from the driver’s seat, given him a shove and insisted they swap places. But his knee prevented him from driving, and Oikawa’s near accident had not been caused by carelessness this time.

“We nearly crashed,” he said levelly. “And two of us fucked won’t solve anything. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Don’t,” Oikawa mumbled. He took a breath. “I’m annoyed, that’s all.”

“Takeru’s a great kid,” Hajime lied, because Oikawa’s nephew could be – at times – as cheeky and annoying as his uncle, behaviour he was convinced Oikawa encouraged. “He can join us, or ... you can drop me home and we’ll do this another day.”

“No, won’t work,” Oikawa said in a small voice. He chewed his lip and frowned. “But ... we could skip that, and bump that up, and ...” From under his lashes, he glanced across at Hajime, looking almost anxious (but Oikawa was never anxious so Hajime must have imagined it). “Takeru has practice at Little Tykes this afternoon. She wants me to go with him.”

“So?”

“You won’t mind? You can stay at mine if you want.”

Shaking his head, Hajime punched Oikawa lightly on the arm, laughing when he mock-flinched at the contact. “I’ll watch you both. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay,” Oikawa said, but he sounded wary and when he started up the car, he was slower, quiet and far more measured in his driving.

 

_‘Weekenders on our own  
It’s such fun.’_

He took the long route back, talking a little, fussing over the radio station, which his mum had tuned into something classical and not to their liking. Hajime wondered again why they were there, but there was a mounting excitement, too, because they were heading _somewhere_ , and Oikawa had clearly put a lot of thought into this day, whatever it was.

“Ha!” he exclaimed, and grinned because Oikawa had driven down a small tree-lined back street, slowing to a halt beside wrought iron railings. “I know where this is. This is the park where we met, isn’t it?”

“That god-awful party,” Oikawa agreed. He smirked. “Whatever happened to that boy?”

“No idea. Mum stopped making me be friends with him soon after. Think he went to Datekou – they play football, don’t they?”

“Bet he never made the team. He was rubbish.”

“He was _eight_ , Assikawa.  You just happened to be better than him. You were better than everyone.”

He smirked again. It was the sort of smile that usually made Hajime want to slap him, but it was true that at eight years old, Oikawa had been so much better than the rest of them. It had been hard to catch up, and even now, Hajime knew he hadn’t, but the journey had been a good one.

“So, this trip down memory lane,” he said. “Is there a reason for your soppy nostalgia?”

Oikawa glared at him. “”That is for you to work out, Iwa-chan. Right, we could take a walk through the park, or we could drive on.”

As he peered out of the window, noticing the dog walkers, and the pre-school children already coming out to play, a spatter of rain began to drum on the windscreen. He didn’t mind the rain, especially hunched up in a fleece with Oikawa close by, but the presence of others in the park meant this would not be like the beach. Holding hands, linking arms, petal soft lips on his cheek – none of that possible.

“Too crowded,” Oikawa said, interrupting his thoughts. “Let’s go.”

“Where to?”

“Guess?”

“Hmm, well as we’re going to Little Tykes later, and I’m going to say ...” he narrowed his eyes. “Watanku Elementary.”

“Wrong!” Oikawa chimed. He grinned. “You’re close. We _would_ have gone there, but they’ve opened up for the holidays, holding sports clubs and I didn’t think we’d be allowed to look round so ...”

“Kitagawa Daiichi?”

“Correct. Go to the top of the class, Iwa-chan. Or just slightly off the top as you had two goes at the question.”

 

_‘Such a perfect day’_  
  


Kitagawa had changed since he’d seen it last. It looked smaller, somehow, despite the new buildings, but then he was eighteen now, and he’d left his Junior High nearly three years before. What he remembered most about the place was ... frustration. He’d loved volleyball, discovering he did have talent, although not as gifted as Oikawa, had reinforced their connection and given him a sense of self-worth, but ... Kitagawa had been an elite school, and he was always made aware of the fact that his parents sacrificed so much to send him there. His place at Aobajousai, partly sports, mainly on academic ability had settled easier in his mind because he’d earned it. But Kitagawa, and early adolescence, had rankled in his mind. He swallowed the lump in his throat when he thought about the place. Oikawa, for all his annoying habits and pretensions had never looked down on him for having much less than the others.

They got out of the car, despite the rain, and of one mind, walked around the back to the gym. There was a fence in place, higher than the one Hajime remembered, but Oikawa reached up with his hands and started to climb.

“I won’t get over,” Hajime reminded him and pulled a face.  “The drop on the other side ... Don’t wanna risk it.”

“Ah, sure. I forgot.” Oikawa sighed and landed back on the pavement. “Doesn’t matter I was only going to say that I learnt a very important lesson here. Two really. ”

“Hmm?”

“One, that ‘With six people the strong are even stronger.’” He winked. “I think you added a ‘dumbass’ as well.”

Hajime grimaced, remembering the fight all too well. Not their first and definitely not their last, but the one – looking back - with the most productive conclusion.  “And the second?”

“That your head is a lethal weapon. I thought you’d broken my nose!” Sighing, he pressed his hand into Hajime’s shoulder. “Good days. I loved it here, didn’t you?”

“Meh.” He shrugged noncommittally. “Seijou’s better.”

“We were established by then, though,” Oikawa replied. “Here was where we ... I don’t know, where we found ourselves, don’t you think?”

“Possibly.”  Hajime didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he’d ever found himself until ...until that loss and ending up bed with Oikawa. But he couldn’t tell him that. “Can we go?”

He didn’t question him, but smiled a little sadly, then after a last squeeze on his shoulder, walked back to the car.  “We could go to Seijou, but I rather suspect you’re getting bored, so ... coffee?”

Hey,” Hajime stretched out his hand, and clutched Oikawa’s before he moved the gearstick. “I’m not bored, okay?”

 

Oikawa’s phone vibrated across the table when they were in the middle of their second cup of coffee, and sharing cheesecake. (Oikawa had been trying to feed it to a tight-lipped Hajime, pretending the fork was an aeroplane, making him laugh so much that he opened his mouth and finally accepted the forkful of dessert on his tongue.)  He glared at the phone, and then picked it up, setting his mouth into a firm line when he saw who it was.

“Not good news, then?”

“She,” he said, not even bothering to call his sister by her name, “has had to change her plans and wants me to look after Takeru earlier.  Lunch, actually, then Little Tykes.” He considered, and helped himself to more cheesecake. Hajime watched his tongue lick a crumb off his lips, and waited. “I could say no. But it does mean she’ll pick him up earlier.”

“S’cool,” he replied. “Admit it, you like seeing him.”

“That’s hardly the point. This was supposed to be our -” He clicked his tongue. “I didn’t want anyone tagging along. And he’ll irritate you, won’t he?”

“Nah, it’s fine. Look, how about I settle up, and we go and get him.”

“I have other places to take you, Iwa-chan.” And then he laughed, realising what he’d implied, and leant closer over the table. “You’re blushing. We’ll get to that later.”

And although they weren’t touching. Although it had been two months since that first kiss, since that first time, when every pent up fury and frustration had exploded into a maelstrom of passion, and he should have been used to the teasing which was Oikawa’s brand of foreplay, Hajime could not help but gasp as his cheeks flamed under Oikawa’s gaze.

_‘You made me forget myself’_

 

Takeru was full of beans and mischief when they picked him up. He also demanded to sit in the front seat, scowling when Oikawa said it was impossible.

“You’re six. You sit in the back and you buckle up.”

“I’m seven!” he countered. “And you’ve let me before.”

“Iwaizumi-san has a bad knee, so you are NOT to disturb him.”

Raising his eyebrows at the unexpected elevation from ‘chan’ to ‘san’. Hajime skewed his head round and nodded a hello to Takeru.

“What’s wrong with your knee? Was it the bad hound?”

“Huh?”

“Tooru tells me bedtime stories without a book,” Takeru explained as he fussed with his seatbelt. “Most of them are lame – especially the alien ones –”

“Hey! Aliens are cool!” Oikawa protested.

Takeru ignored him. “But some of them are kinda fun. He told me this one about you beating a fear- a fear – uh – what was it again, Tooru?”

“Fearsome hell-hound. The stories aren’t strictly true, Take-chan. And, hey, a bit of respect when you’re addressing me!”

“What did I do in the stories, Takeru-chan?” Hajime asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Um, well, there was this fear-thingy hound that was a bad dog, and it wanted to take over something. Uh ... what did it want to take over, Tooru?”

“The castle,” he replied, and started up the car. “It’s a daft story. You shouldn’t listen.”

“So the fear hound thing challenged Knight Iwa-chan,” – he elongated the name as if unsure it was correct, finishing with a frown on his face, “three times. There was a running race, which Knight Iwa-chan won easily because he was the fastest in the land. Uh ... then there was a battle with clubs, where they hit a ball.”

Something about the story was familiar, and Hajime – keeping his face straight glanced at Oikawa, amused that his cheeks were reddening. “What was the last challenge, Takeru-chan?”

“Arm to arm combat,” Takeru replied, his eyes wide with excitement. “Knight Iwa-chan beat the hound in all three and ... um ... what happened next?”

“Don’t tell me you killed Kyoutani in the story,” he whispered to Oikawa.

“Of course not. Not that Takeru would have minded but my sister was listening,” Oikawa whispered back, before raising his voice. “The fearsome hell-hound was tamed by Knight Iwa-chan and became part of the castle, guarding everyone inside and biting evil invaders.”

“That was it.” Takeru shrugged, puffed out his cheeks and fidgeted in his seat. “So did the hound bite you?”

“Takeru, it wasn’t a real dog. I made it up,” Oikawa said irritably.

“Uh-huh, I know that, but you did use Iwaizumi-san’s name so I thought there might be a dog.”

“Not one that bites,” Hajime said, and snarled at Takeru, who growled back, baring his teeth before collapsing into giggles. “At least, he doesn’t bite me.”

 

Lunch was the reheated miso, surrounding a pyramidical heap of pale lumps, placing the dish in the middle of the table. Whatever was piled in the miso appeared to be bread crumbed, but rather than golden and crispy, they were flaccid, and when Hajime lifted one of the ... things to his mouth, it fell from his chopsticks, collapsing in a soggy mess on his plate.

“Eww, not touching that!” Takeru pulled a face. “What’s for dessert?”

“Nothing unless you finish this,” Oikawa declared. He scowled at both Takeru and Hajime. “I went to a lot of trouble, so eat it up.”

“Your housekeeper went to a lot of trouble, Assi ... uh ... Oikawa. You just heated it up.” He prodded the sodden mass on his plate. “What is this?”

“Agedashi tofu,” Oikawa said, adding pointedly, “Your favourite. And I _did_ make it.”

Now he looked at it, he could tell it was tofu, and that explained the breadcrumbs, but ... “Did you fry it?”

“No. Seemed too much hassle, so I stuck it in the microwave.” He took his seat, pouring out a glass of water, and waited expectantly.

“Uh ... okay.” Tentatively he lifted another cube to his mouth, this time with more success, and slipped the tofu onto his tongue. It was lukewarm, barely above room temperature, and tasted of nothing much except tofu and the miso, which Oikawa had obviously heated too quickly because there was a bitter aftertaste of scald.

“Well?”His face was open, expectant, slightly worried.

If he held his breath and swallowed quickly, he could get it over with.  “Yeah,” he gulped. “Good. Uh, pass me some water, will you?”

Takeru had other ideas, shoving his plate to the centre of the table and sitting with his arms folded across his chest. “I’m not eating this. It’s yucky.”

“Rubbish,” began Oikawa, raising some of the tofu to his mouth. “See, this is nice, Take-chan. You have to be a good boy, like Iwa-chan and - OH MY DAYS THIS IS GROSS!” he screeched.

Not even caring that he should have been setting a good example to Takeru, Oikawa spat the tofu out of his mouth, sending it flying across the table, where it landed on Hajime’s cheek. He heard Oikawa’s indrawn breath, Takeru’s yelp of delight, then slowly, deliberately, he raised his hand to his face and peeled off the gelatinous mass.

“You’re not laughing are you, Assikawa?” he murmured.

“Iwa-chan ... uh... remember there’s someone else here,” Oikawa hooted. “My nephew’s very young and ... NOO!”

The tofu landed with a satisfactory splat across Oikawas nose, but before Hajime could enjoy the sight or duck, Oikawa reached for the bowl picked up more tofu pieces and began to pelt them at him, laughing all the while, and urging Takeru to do the same.

“You git!” Hajime covered his face, attempting to ward off the bombardment, but the tofu was raining down on him faster than a spike, and there was only one option now. Catching some cubes, squidging them into his hands, Hajime propelled himself, one footed, towards Oikawa. With a manic grin, and ignoring the yells (‘No, no, Iwa-chan, it was a joke. STOP!  Takeru, help me!’) he squashed the mass of congealing tofu into Oikawa’s pride and glory - his hair - laughing all the while.

“NO!  Iwa-chan. I ... stop this! It’s childish! Think of the example you’re setting Takeru,” he screeched.

“Takeru-chan,” Hajime said, his eyes gleaming. “I’ll hold him. You stuff the rest of it down his shirt.”

But has he bent forwards, his fingers gripping Oikawa’s shoulders, pushing him back into the chair, his breath hitched.

“Is it your knee?” Oikawa was instantly solicitous.

He shook his head, unable to speak. With his thumb, Hajime wiped some tofu off Oikawa’s cheek, then slumped back to his chair. Oikawa stared at him, protestations and smiles all gone, then sticking out his hand, he held off his nephew.

“What do you want to eat instead, Take-chan?” he asked, not looking away from Hajime.

“Burgers!”

“Hmm, then I’ll have to go out. If you help Iwaizumi-san clear up, while I wash this tofu out of my hair, then I’ll buy you one. Okay?”

“And chips?”

“And cola, if you want. But don’t tell your mum.” He turned his head slightly away from Hajime, but kept his eyes on his face. “Put the plates in the sink, Takeru.”

His nephew padded out to the kitchen leaving the pair of them together, and Hajime wasn’t sure if that was worse because, yes, they were alone, but no, they weren’t really.

“What’s the matter?” Oikawa asked. “ _Is_ it your knee?”

“No. It’s you,” he said simply, truthfully, because what was the point in lying. “Just kinda wish we were alone, that’s all.”

Oikawa grinned and started to laugh. “The day is still young, Iwa-chan. There’s plenty of time.” He picked up Hajime’s hand and slowly kissed each fingertip, nuzzling the last with his teeth. “And you _can_ stay the night.”

_‘I thought I was someone else’_

 

With his hair still damp from the shower, and the rain that had started to pelter again outside, Oikawa returned to the house, with bags of burgers and chips for the three of them. Handing cola to Takeru, he doled out water for himself and Hajime, then stood and frowned at the DVD they were watching.

“You can sit here,” Hajime moved his legs from the sofa.

“No, you should stretch out,” Oikawa replied as he studied him. “Can’t have been much fun cooped up in the car most of the morning.”

“Don’t fuss. I’m fine,” he muttered and added a smile. “Seriously, it feels good today. I think getting out and about, not relying on crutches the whole time has been good.”

“D’you really have crutches?” Takeru asked, momentarily distracted from the film. “That’s cool.”

Hajime laughed and unwrapped his burger. “Uh, if you say so. They’re good for whacking people on the legs. Oikawa, sit, come on.”

So, he sat in the middle of the sofa, but insisted Hajime stretch out. It felt odd, and now he thought about, thought _properly_ about it, everything about the day felt odd. Yes, they’d often spend time together, it would usually be alone because despite being part of a team, they weren’t as close to the others. But there was something kind of desperate about Oikawa’s determination to make everything perfect. Visiting old places, cooking (well, trying to) Hajime’s favourite food. It was like he was trying to create memories, force them to lodge in Hajime’s mind.

And Hajime still couldn’t work out why.

Unless...

His parents were abroad. London, he’d said, which was where Oikawa had lived for the first seven years of his life. Were they thinking of going back? Was Oikawa going with them?  Universities in Britain were good; whether they catered for volleyball players, Hajime had no idea. The only thing he knew was that he wouldn’t be able to follow. His place at university hung on the wispiest thread now the sports place was impossible. Not just good, but the best grades were needed, and Hajime wasn’t sure he was up to the mark.

The bun was dry, the burger unswallowable. He couldn’t chew anymore, instead taking a glug of water.

“Eat up.”

“Not hungry,” he muttered.

But then, there was something about the _day_ , Oikawa had said. Something Hajime needed to work out.

And he still hadn’t.

“This movie sucks.”

“Thought you liked it.”

Takeru screwed up his nose. “It’s kinda lame, Tooru.”

“So, pick another,” Oikawa murmured.

“Nah, I wanna go to Little Tykes.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s the thing,” Oikawa said, leaning over Hajime’s legs to explain.  “I was driving past, and it’s closed. They had a flood, so no classes today.”

“But I want to _do_ something. I’m boooored,” he whined, (sounding uncannily like Oikawa had on the fishing trip, Hajime thought).

“Like what?” snapped Oikawa, although Hajime could tell he was trying to be patient.  “It’s raining, and you don’t have a change of clothes, so we are not taking you to the park to play. If you can think of something else, then yes, I’ll take you.”

“Maybe there’s somewhere undercover?” Hajime suggested.

“Ice skating!” Takeru said suddenly, jumping up and down on his knees. “I went to Aki-chan’s birthday party last week, and that was held at the rink. Can we do that, Tooru, can we? Can we?”

Seized with laughter, Hajime clutched his stomach. Of all the things Takeru could have suggested, this was the worst. This was the one thing he knew Oikawa would never take his nephew to. However fond he was, ice skating was the absolute limit.

“You put him up to this, didn’t you?”

“No,” he sniggered. “Seriously, Oikawa, I didn’t. Oh my God, I wish I had. Just the thought – hahahahhaha –”

“So can we go?”

“No. Finish your chips.”

“But I wanna. And it’s fun.”

“It’s stupid and dangerous.”

“Only if you’re not good at it,” Takeru said. “I managed a whole lap by myself, not clinging on to the rail once. And I can turn. It was great.” He chomped on a chip. “’Course Eiji-chan kept falling over, but he’s rubbish at sports. He didn’t hurt himself  - ‘part from a bruise.”

“We are _not_ going ice-skating,” Oikawa said, and there was no other word for it, he said it ‘icily’. “For one thing Iwa-chan can’t manage it-”

“No, no go ahead, I’ll watch,” Hajime said, not even attempting to stifle his laughter. “It’s what Takeru wants so ... hahahaha .... you should go.”

“No,” Oikawa rapped. He resumed eating his burger, biting into it with force and glowering at the TV screen. “Think of something else.”

“Ice skating!” Takeru insisted.

Oikawa said nothing. Hajime snorted. “Go on, you could take him. You might ... uh ... have improved.”

“Don’t wanna!” Oikawa mewed, pulling his eyelid down with his finger.

“But I want to! And it’s fuuun!”

Hajime swallowed some more water, and watched Oikawa closely. He knew why he wouldn’t take Takeru skating. The simple reason was that Oikawa couldn’t skate. They’d all been last year. Oikawa had wanted a team building exercise when the new first years had joined, and had accepted Mattsun’s idea that they go ice-skating. He hadn’t known – and neither had Hajime – that Matsukawa was a very good skater. Strong muscled, his thighs powered him around the rink. Kunimi had skated before and had a litheness and energy he never showed on court. Kindaichi had been determined not to let his senpais down, and despite falling, had managed a lap or two.

Trudging onto the ice, Hajime had wobbled a few times, but had kept upright, and soon found he could skate a little, although turning was a problem. Oikawa, however, had clung to the rail, his skates slipping from under him, every time he attempted to let go.

_“How can you be so bad at this?” Hajime laughed._

_“It’s hard. You’ve obviously been before!”_

_“No, never. Look, just have faith. Push off from the rail and ... oh!”_

_Oikawa landed with a thud on his arse again._

_And Hanamaki’s laughter rippled out across the rink._

_“It’s stupid. It’s impossible!”_

_“No, you’re just rubbish at it.” He sniggered and bit his lip. “I don’t get it. You’re so good at everything else, so why ...” Then he snorted, and holding out his hands, took Oikawa’s in his. “It’s kind of reassuring that you’re so shit at this.”_

_“RUDE!” he shouted and let go. “I don’t need your help. Obviously being so short helps. You have a lower centre of gravity!””_

_Hajime shrugged, and pushed off, a little wobbly but at least he was upright.  “Sure. Have fun on your arse, Assikawa!”_

 

“It’s dangerous,” Oikawa said, breaking the silence.

“Bollocks. Tell him the real reason.”

“That _is_ the real reason,” Oikawa insisted. He got to his feet, jarring Hajime’s knee, but didn’t apologise .

“Your uncle, Takeru-chan,” Hajime said irritably, “isn’t very good at skating. We went once and he spent more time on his ar... uh ... bum than anyone else. When he wasn’t falling over, he clung to the rail and moaned a lot.”

“Shut up!” Oikawa snarled. “It’s not that!”

“What is it then?” Hajime muttered and tugged on his sleeve. “Look, you don’t have to be the best at everything and your nephew seeing you as _not_ good at something isn’t a bad thing, is it?”

“It is dangerous,” Oikawa repeated, his face contorting.  And now the words were coming out in a rush, a jumble, a mess. “What if I slipped? What if I fell forwards and banged my head? What if a skater ran their blade over my fingers? What if I hurt my serving arm, or the elbow? What if I bust my kn-” His gasped, dropped his water bottle and stormed from the room.

“So he’s scared, huh?” Takeru said, his head on one side. “I’d help him. I helped Eiji-chan.”

“Uh... yeah, I know you would. I don’t think it’s that. But ... um, maybe think of something else, yeah?” Levering himself off the sofa, he ruffled Takeru’s hair, and grinned down at him. “Stay here, I want to talk to him.”

_‘Someone good’_

 

After limping up the stairs and checking his bedroom, Hajime found Oikawa in the main bathroom.  He was standing by the sink, his hands gripping the sides as the hot tap ran, steaming up the widows. There was a mirror in front of him, but Hajime didn’t think Oikawa was checking his reflection. If he had been, he’d have smoothed his hair for one thing, not left it so dishevelled.

“It’s not your fault,” he muttered, not entirely sure, but he had an idea what was troubling Oikawa, what had been troubling him for nearly two months now.

“That I can’t skate.” Oikawa’s voice was toneless but thick. He sniffed, and flicked at his hair. “I know that. There has to be _one_ thing I can’t do.”

“Apart from cooking,” Hajime joked, but Oikawa didn’t  answer. “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“Uhm ... pushing you about the ice-skating thing, I guess.”

“S’okay. I could take him, I suppose. It’ll be boring for you, though. And ... uh ...” He laughed a little bitterly. “This is supposed to be our day.”

 _Why? Why today?_ he wondered, but didn’t ask. Instead, Hajime stopped lounging in the doorway, stepped inside and kicked the door shut.

“Oikawa, it really isn’t your fault.”

“I know, I already said-”

“I mean my accident,” Hajime cut in. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he waited for Oikawa to turn around, then said simply, “You weren’t even playing, so stop this, okay?”

For a moment he thought Oikawa was about to deny the suggestion. Certainly the boy he’d always known, the one he’d grown up with, had shared sweets with, thumped, pushed over and been humiliated by, would have in the normal run of things, tossed his hair, fixed Hajime with a smirk and laughed aloud at the suggestion.  But this Oikawa was not the same.  And when he raised his face to stare back at Hajime, there was only one word for him – broken.

“I _should_ have been playing.”

“I should have stretched properly,” Hajime countered. “I was too wound up by a stupid practise match. And ... look ... this-” He gestured to his knee, remembering again the acute pain as he’d leapt for a ball he should have left for Kunimi, and felt the tendon rip apart. Closing his eyes, he let a breath whistle through his teeth.   “It could have happened anytime.”

“No, because I wouldn’t have _let_ it happen,” Oikawa murmured. He turned back to the mirror, hunched now. “I’m scared, Hajime.”

It was the use of his name that sunk him. Stepping close, Hajime encased Oikawa in his arms, resting his cheek on his back, and holding, holding, holding, because he could hear and feel the ragged breaths shuddering through Oikawa’s body.

Breaths echoed by his own.

“It won’t happen to you, Tooru-chan,” he whispered.

“But what if it does? What if I never play–” He drew a breath, gasping, loud, a kind of groan. “Hell, I’m sorry! Head butt me, hit me, just do _something_ to stop me from being so _fucking_ selfish.”

But Hajime just held him, and when Oikawa turned around and buried his face in Hajime’s neck, he didn’t know whose tears were whose.

_‘You just keep me hanging on’_

 

They arrived at Seijou, with Takeru in tow, at around two o’clock. It had been Hajime’s idea, remembering that the gym would be open, and although Oikawa had seemed reluctant, saying he’d be bored, Hajime had seen through the ruse and puffed away his objections.

“I have been back.  You know that because you came with me. And I really don’t mind watching from the sides.”

“You weren’t there for a whole session, though.  It was only to say hello that first time, and after that, you dropped in once or twice, but never stayed.”

“Look, I haven’t seen you practise for ages. I want to see your serve, Oikawa. See how powerful it is now.”

“What position did you play, Iwa-san?” Takeru asked, tapping on his shoulder from the back seat.

He chuckled, noticing Oikawa was just as amused as he was at Takeru’s new name for him. “I was a Wing Spiker.”

“He was Seijou’s Ace,” Oikawa corrected, sounding stern. “And Vice –Captain.”

“So ...” Takeru screwed up his face, concentrating as he thought. “Tooru was Captain, yeah, and Setter and had a one on his shirt, so was yours number two.”

“Nope, I was four.”

“Why?”

“Um ... Our Middle-Blocker, Matsukawa, made the team earlier, didn’t he?” Hajime shrugged. It was something like that; he couldn’t remember the exact reason.

“Only by a week,” Oikawa murmured. “You should have been two, when you were made vice, but then that would have meant us standing next to each other in the line-ups and the coach ...” His eyes flicked to the rear view mirror, and he smiled at Takeru.  “Our coach, Take-chan, thought it best we had two taller – more responsible players – between the pair of us.”

“Did he?” Hajime asked, then grinned. “Ha, yeah, I’d forgotten that.”

 

Students weren’t usually allowed to drive into the school and use the car park behind the gym, but Aobajousai High had only opened its sports halls, and Oikawa was something of a special case. He always had been able to smile and flutter his lashes around any school regulation.

 _I’ve missed this,_ Hajime thought, hearing the sound of volleyballs pounding on the court, and shouts of joy or exasperation. Flexing his leg in front of him he wondered, briefly, if he could perhaps have a go, maybe try a serve or even spike a ball -

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa warned, “do not even _think_ about getting on court. You’re still wincing. Don’t try to hide it. I can see it in your face every time you shift position,” Oikawa said and frowned. “You should have brought your crutches. Or stayed at home.”

“Nah, I’m fine.” He grinned across at Oikawa. “Be fun to see how Yahaba-kun’s coping with Kyoutani.”

“Who?” chirped Takeru.

“The hell-hound. Now that Knight Iwa-chan has left the castle, it’s up to Knight Yahaba-chan to keep the beast in check,” Oikawa replied. “He has a tough job because the Seijou hell-hound only answers to one Knight and Yahaba-chan’s squire – the Village Idiot Kindaichi –”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Hajime said, punching him on the arm.  “He’ll be fine!”

Smirking, Oikawa hitched his bag on his shoulder and grabbed hold of Takeru’s hand. “We’ll see what happens, eh, Take-chan?”

And then they heard the roar.

“IF YOU WANT TO BEAT THAT BALDY NEXT TIME WE FACE THEM, KYOUTANI , YOU BETTER DAMN WELL MAKE SURE YOU’RE HERE ON TIME!”

“My word, is that our kouhai Kindaichi?” Oikawa asked, then collapsed in laughter. “Iwa-chan, he must have been taking lessons from you.”

 

_‘You just keep me hanging on’_  
  


Takeru’s enthusiasm for volleyball, unsurprisingly did not equal his uncles, and after an hour he trotted to the sides where Hajime was sitting and wriggled onto a seat.

“When are we going?” he asked.

“When Oikawa’s finished,” Hajime murmured, not wanting to be distracted. On the far side of the court, Oikawa was practising serves, pinpointing each with an accuracy that surely shouldn’t have been possible for an eighteen year old. But then he’d always had ability far beyond his peers. He wasn’t considered a prodigy, a genius, not like Kageyama, but he had a determination and athleticism that outstripped anyone Hajime had ever met.

 He gripped his knee, massaging it with the heel of his hand. _You left me behind years ago, and now I’m not sure I’ll ever catch up._

“How long will that be?”

“Uh, give him another hour.”

Expecting Takeru to moan, he was pleasantly surprised when he nodded and sat back in his seat. From his small backpack, he took out a drink and also a drawing pad and pens.

“I’m going to draw you a picture, Iwa-san,” he announced. “And I might do one for Tooru, as well.” He scowled.  “’Cept I don’t know what he’s done with my others.”

“How many have you drawn him?”

“Um...” Takeru counted on his fingers, his eyes flicking up and down. “Lots,” he pronounced finally.

As many as that,” Hajime said gravely. Then he patted Takeru on the arm. “He has one in his room, on his notice board, I’ve seen it.”

“Oh that.” Takeru screwed up his face. “It’s a baby picture. I’m much better now.”  And as if to prove his point, he emptied his pencil case over the seat next to him, pulled out a blue crayon and started to draw. “What colour do Aoba... uh ... Abuu ... um ... what are your team called?”

“Aobajousai High, but call us Seijou – it’s easier,” Hajime replied, and shifting in his seat, applauded as Watari managed to return one of Oikawa’s serves. “NICE RECEIVE!”

“Colour?”

“Uh ... white and turquoise. That’s that greeny-blue colour,” he said and picked up a pencil. “Serve a good one, Oikawa!”

The practise continued past another hour, and although he thought his overwhelming emotion would be frustration, Hajime felt a kind of disconnect from it all. He was happy to be there, irritated that he couldn’t join in – especially spike practise – but on the whole it was sort of cathartic and distant. Seijou was almost his past now, and one of the most important parts of it had come to an end sooner than he’d have wished, but it was still an end.

The most important, though, had not ended. But with a cold clutch of fear permeating through his gut, he wondered just how long Oikawa would stick around. If an English university really was an option ...

“My word you look scary, Iwa-chan. What’s got you riled?”

“Me? Oh ... nothing. Just thinking.”

“Tch, what have I told you about that?” Oikawa replied, and flicked him on the cheek. “Can you pass my towel and some water?” He exhaled as he wiped his face, then emptied some water over his hair. “That was good.”

“You looked good,” Hajime said, and studied him, taking in the face flushed from exercise and the pure thrill of knowing it had been a good workout.  “You’ve got better, you know that?”

“Hmm, well, I’m not going to college purely to study, am I? So, I need them to have every reason to play me from the start.”

“They will,” Hajime said reassuringly and it wasn’t a line just to keep him sweet. Oikawa was too good to bench, he felt that in his bones.

 “With my ace alongside me, of course,” Oikawa said, flashing him a grin. “When your knee is better, you’re getting straight back into training, Iwa-chan.”

He gaped. “Uh .. S-so you’re not going to Eng-”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. Just ... you’re not going to let me give up, are you?” he said, flustered but there was a surge of joy waving through him.

“Of course not!” Oikawa rapped, looking almost annoyed. He flapped his hand in the air, then threw the bottle back to Hajime. “I’ll get changed, then we can drop Takeru home.”

“Then what?” Hajime called after him. “Where next, Oikawa?”

Half-turning, Oikawa lilted a smile on his face and gave him a wink.  “Where does the day end, Iwa-chan?”

 

_‘You’re going to reap just what you sow’_

 

The pale winter light, filtering through Oikawa’s bedroom blind picked out the two pictures on his notice board. One was of the drawing Takeru had done the year before. A picture of his uncle (at least Hajime thought it was Oikawa; it was hard to tell because his skin was a greenish colour) and a photograph of them both at Kitagawa Daiichi. Oikawa was holding his Best Setter Award, his smile lighting up  his face and those around him. Hajime grinned lopsidedly, and touched his younger self with his thumb tip. He’d been so gawky then, his features not quite formed, unlike Oikawa, who’d been a pretty child, an attractive boy, and now a good-looking man.

“Hey, jeans off. I told you!”

“Don’t nag.” He scowled at Oikawa.

“Your angel of a mother has only agreed to you staying over if I supervise your exercises,” Oikawa said, sounding stern. His hands gripped Hajime’s shoulders, and then he relaxed the pressure, and lent over him. His breath warmed Hajime’s neck, but the words sent a shiver of anticipation through him, “Well, look at you, Iwa-chan. Who would have thought you’d grow up to be quite ... so ... handsome?”

“Get lost!” Hajime spluttered, blushing.

“I mean it,” he whispered, and snaked his hands around Hajime’s waist. “The raw material was always there, but you ...” 

Hajime groaned as Oikawa started to undo his trousers, his fingers slipping under his waistband, flipping open the buttons, and letting one palm rest on Hajime’s crotch, while the other slid down his left thigh.

“You,” he continued, pressing his lips to Hajime’s neck, “blossomed.”

Then suddenly, just as Hajime felt his cock harden, Oikawa released him. “There, I’ve got you out of your jeans, so now, get on that mat, and we’ll get to work.”

“You fucking bastard.”

Sniggering, Oikawa peeled off his jacket and slung it over the chair. “I’m more scared of your mother than you. Get on that mat.”

“I can’t sodding concentrate on bloody stretches with you hovering over me, Assikawa.”

Sighing, Oikawa flopped into his desk chair and switched on his computer. “You may have blossomed physically, but your insult vocabulary’s still stuck in Junior High.”

Ignoring him, Hajime limped to the bed, removed his knee brace, and then lowered himself down to the mat. Gingerly, he flexed his knee, waiting for the point where he winced before he pushed on, then pulled it back to his chest. For a day spent walking without crutches, and sat in the car, his knee felt surprising strong, but not pain free, and he was far from the full mobility he’d had before the injury. He repeated the exercise, then started the others, before finally reaching the last.

“Oikawa?”

“Hmm?”

“I need resistance.”

“Not your forte,” Oikawa said, a smile in his voice.

“Ha ha. I need something to push against. Can you come here?”

“Sure.” He sank to the floor in one graceful movement, and with his hands formed a wall for Hajime to push against with the side of his shin. It was something they’d done before, a way Oikawa could involve himself, but it was only now that Hajime realised how much Oikawa wanted to help. He might mock, and tease, and deny he cared, but his actions today, his continual questions about crutches, and even the way he’d linked arms along the beach, gave a lie to the look of perpetual unconcern.

“I am getting better you know,” murmured Hajime, after he’d completed the reps.

“I know.” He held Hajime’s leg, touching the scar with his fingers. “I can see the improvement even from last week. But ...”

“But what?”

“You are allowed to say when something hurts,” Oikawa replied. “Don’t overwork yourself, all right?”

“That’s rich coming from you!”

“Yes, well, I had a good teacher.” His fingers left the scar to trace circles on Hajime’s thigh, a slow smile on his face. “Just how limber are you, Iwa-chan?”

Catching Oikawa’s arm, Hajime drew him down, and cupped his face between his hands. “What do you have in mind?”

 

With clothes strewn across the room, they made it to the bed, but not under the sheets, the hunger that had been building all day, now desperate to be assuaged. With privacy at a premium at his home, Hajime relished the chance to lie with Oikawa, yet felt, once again, utter disbelief that this was happening between them.  He started to kiss him, tilting his face up to bite on his lip, pry apart his mouth and let his tongue explore. But when Oikawa tried to push him flat on his back, he hesitated, and the question he’d wanted to ask earlier, the one he’d been desperate to ask since this all began, blurted from his lips.

“If we hadn’t lost that match-” He gulped and a hoarse, scratchy lump formed in his throat.  What the hell was he asking? He wasn’t sure he could take the answer. “Sorry ... forget it.”

“If we hadn’t _lost_ that match, Hajime, we’d have celebrated, not commiserated,” Oikawa murmured. He ran his fingers through Hajime’s hair and smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry you see _us_ as a consolation prize.”

“No, I don’t. I just ... wasn’t sure about you.” He laughed, a little bitterly. “I’m never sure about you. Even today, all this, I still don’t know what we’re celebrating.”

Oikawa clicked his tongue. “And there was me thinking you were college material.” His hand trailed down Hajime’s side, halting when he reached his hip bone, his nails starting to scratch. He gripped him, a small smile curving his lips, faintly mocking but also happy when he felt Hajime harden in his hand. And then Oikawa’s face darkened, and his eyes closed because Hajime curled his good leg around his waist, and grasped his cock, working him slowly, tipping him into insensibility.

Hajime kept his eyes open and trained on Oikawa, as he enjoyed the minute reactions, the flicker of his expression, the twist of lips, and then the guttural gasps as Oikawa teetered on the brink.

“No... Iwa-chan ... no ... stop ...”

“What?”

“No ... Not yet. Stop!”

He stopped immediately, his senses on full alert. “What’s wrong? Have you heard something?”

“Sunset,” Oikawa gasped. “We’re missing the sunset.”

“What the fuck!”

“No, it has to be perfect! I want to see the sunset with you.” Oikawa had already scrabbled off the bed, and had pulled on his shirt. “Come on, best view’s from the spare room.”

“WHY?” Hajime yelled, but he was speaking to an empty room. Knowing he wouldn’t hear the end of it until he’d watched the sunset (and would _never_ get to finish what they’d started if he stayed away) he bent down to pick up his shirt.  His fingers came into contact with something, a folded sheet of paper that must have fallen out of his jeans pocket when Oikawa had stripped him.

It was the drawing Takeru had given him, which he’d not paid much attention to at the time, but now he opened it up.

‘Tooru and Iwa-san’  - Takeru had scrawled. And below that he’d drawn two players with a volleyball between them, both wearing team shirts. The four had been written backwards, and the one was missing the captain’s line underneath, but it was undeniably them.

And finally, he understood.

“You’re missing it, Iwa-chan!”

He padded his way across the landing. Oikawa was standing by the window, his face bathed in the fiery orange light of the setting sun. He half turned and reached out with his hand, and Hajime, wordlessly stepped straight to him.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Oikawa said.

“Yeah.” But he wasn’t looking at the sunset.

“I get it now, Tooru.”

“Hmm.” Oikawa switched his gaze from the window to Hajime’s face. “Get what?”

“Why today. It’s the date, isn’t it. Fourth of January. A four and a one.”

“January the fourth. A one and a four,” Oikawa corrected. “Our special day. A perfect day.”

Hajime chuckled and nuzzled Oikawa’s neck, licking his ear because he knew it would make him squirm. “Dumbass,” he whispered.

Oikawa wriggled away and made a show of wiping his ear. “Why? I thought it was ... um ... a nice thing to do.”

 “We don’t need a special day, idiot,” he said, and smiled. “Come here.”

And tilting his face up, he waited expectantly for Oikawa’s kiss.

“You’re missing the sunset.”

“There’s another one tomorrow.”

 

 _Such a perfect day_  
You made me forget myself  
I thought I was someone else  
Someone good.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for Iwaoi Day, but is late because, obviously, this being me, it spiralled into this monster.  
> Hajime's end sentiments are based entirely around a twitter conversation. 
> 
> Thank you everyone who put up with me moaning and being a self-pitying wreck when I was struggling to get this written. Love you all.


End file.
